


listening to silence

by transkylo (captainandor)



Category: Hemlock Grove
Genre: Before everything goes so horribly horribly wrong, First Kiss, Fluff, Halloween, Idiots in Love, M/M, making fun of twilight bc how could i NOT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 23:11:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12376098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainandor/pseuds/transkylo
Summary: “Dude,” Roman says, “Could you be any more cliché? A vampire. Why don’t you go all out and just dress up as Edward fuckin’ Cullen.”Peter laughs, “Sure, but only if you agree to go as whats-his-name. Jacob?”Roman snorts at this, shaking his head, “I don’t have the abs for that, man, all that shirtless action,” he says, “Besides, it’s too fucking cold. Maybe I could go full on fursuit.





	listening to silence

**Author's Note:**

> *taps mic* is this fandom still alive 
> 
> Anyway in my mind this fic takes place in a world where everything is the same except its not so fucking horribly depressing and also everyone lives yaay

“What’re you dressing up as?” Peter asks, hugging his knees up into his chest, “For Halloween?” 

They’re sitting beneath the trees on the Godfrey estate, on the little hill that overlooks the valley where it sweeps down and leads, inevitably, to the forest and Peter’s trailer. The air is crisp and cool, but the sun is warm on their skin, and both Peter and Roman have shed their jackets and rolled their sleeves to the elbows to make the most of the sun’s warmth before the rainclouds inevitably roll in. 

In his hand, he’s holding the crumpled remains of a flyer for the Halloween homecoming dance at school, fallen out of his pocket as he’d searched for a packet of cigarettes to pass to Roman. The flyer is a hideous shade of orange and reading **‘HEMLOCK HALLOWEEN HOMECOMING: ATTEND IF YOU DARE’** at the top in dripping, garish, orange letters. 

He glances to his left, at Roman sitting beside him, impossibly long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles as he stoops to light a cigarette. He tucks the lighter away in his trouser pocket, and shrugs one shoulder, pursing his lips thoughtfully. 

“I dunno,” he replies, smoke curling from his nose like a dragon. His lip quirks and he steals a sly glance at Peter, “Werewolf, maybe,”

Peter elbows him sharply in the ribs, grinning despite himself. 

“Asshole.”

“No, really.” Roman says, “It’d be great. Do you know where I can get loads of fake body hair from?”

Peter snatches the cigarette right from between his lips, bringing it up to his own mouth, “That’s fucking gross. Werewolves aren’t that hairy.”

Roman leans his head back against the tree trunk, humming thoughtfully, “You sure?” he asks, “I mean, do you own a mirror? Cause man, I have some news for you.”

Peter just rolls his eyes, exhaling smoke and passing the cigarette back to his friend.

“What about you?” Roman asks as he plucks the cigarette from Peter’s hands, their fingers brushing briefly, “Got any ideas?” 

“Huh.” He says, looking thoughtfully at the sky, “Maybe –” he pauses to grin, letting Roman see the wolfish expression on his face before he continues – “a vampire.”

Roman scoffs at him. 

“What?” 

“Dude,” Roman says, “Could you be any more cliché? A vampire. Why don’t you go all out and just dress up as Edward fuckin’ Cullen.”

Peter laughs, “Sure, but only if you agree to go as whats-his-name. Jacob?” 

Roman snorts at this, shaking his head, “I don’t have the abs for that, man, all that shirtless action,” he says, “Besides, it’s too fucking cold. Maybe I could go full on fursuit.” He extends his hand, cigarette balanced between index and middle finger.

Peter takes the proffered cigarette back and takes a drag, “Hot.” He says, exhaling smoke towards the sky, “I’ll find some glitter.” 

“Do vampires really sparkle?” Roman asks, “Shit. Are vampires real? I didn’t even think past werewolves but – I bet there’s a whole list of supernatural creatures that are real.”

The irony would be amusing, if only the question didn’t make Peter’s stomach feel tight with nerves. Roman didn’t know. Of course he didn’t know – why would Peter have expected Olivia Godfrey to have been forthright with her son about anything, lest of all his own fucking lineage. 

Trying for time to compose himself, he hands the cigarette back over, though it’s mostly burned down to a stub now. 

“Sure.” He says, aiming for nonchalance, “Most supernatural shit can be found out there if you know where to look. Destiny has books on everything from your humble garden fairy to sasquatch. None of ‘em sparkle. Except for some fairies.” 

Roman blinks a couple of times. “Fuckin’ – fairies.” He says, flatly, “Really?” 

“Yeah. Nicolae caught one, once.” He says, as Roman stubs the cigarette out on the grass, “She died though. We kept her in a jar for a bit.” 

“Brutal.” Roman says, looking thoughtful, “She probably suffocated. So like, how cliché is this in real life? Do vampires and werewolves hate each other’s guts?” 

If Roman knew, Peter thinks, they’d never be here, having this ridiculous conversation. In fact, if Roman knew, they’d never have become friends in the first place. “Uh, yeah. Kinda.” He shrugs, “Most werewolves – most Romani in general – don’t trust them all that much.” 

Roman makes a noise in the back of his throat that sounds a little like a laugh. 

“You know, I always thought Hemlock Grove was a fucking weird place,” he smiles a little, amused, “Turns out it’s only fucking weirder.” 

Peter inclines his head in agreement, “Sure is.” 

They fall into a comfortable silence, lost in their own thoughts. Peter wonders what Roman’s thinking about, if he has any clue as to his true nature. Has he ever wondered about himself – about his mother? 

Between the trees at the boundary between the Godfrey estate and the rest of the world, a deer emerges from the trees, watching them with curious eyes. 

Peter turns to Roman. “So, are you going to the homecoming dance?” 

Roman glances at him. “Yeah,” he says, then adds with a devilish smile, “Need somewhere to wear my fursuit, don’t I, wolf boy.”

Peter snickers. “God. Stop calling it a fursuit.” He pauses, “You taking someone?” 

When he looks back at his friend, it’s to find Roman watching him closely, a strange, unidentifiable emotion on his face. “Jesus, what are you, a detective? What’s with all the questions?” he pauses, “I dunno. Are you?” 

Peter picks at a blade of grass. “Nah. Well. I’m the new kid, nobody knows who I am, so who’d I take?” 

Roman gives him a gentle nudge. “I know you” 

Suddenly, Peter’s throat feels tight. Roman’s an Upir, he tries to remind himself, he’s no good. The thought sounds suspiciously like Destiny’s voice in his head. He shoves it away. “I was gonna say – if you want – we could just go together. If you haven’t made other plans. To go with a girl, or Letha, or Shelley –”

“Letha and Shelley are girls.” Roman says, ever the pedantic. But he’s smiling, “I think Letha and Shelley are going together. They’ve got matching costumes or something. Are you asking me on a date?”

“No!” Peter insists, watches as Roman’s grin widens, and he backtracks, “Unless you want it to be?” 

Roman’s lip twitches, and for a horrible moment, Peter thinks he’s being laughed at. Of course he is. Roman Godfrey probably has half the school year – more, even – lining up to go to homecoming with him. Basking for even a minute of his attention. If he went with Peter at all, it’d be for the same reason he does anything, to be the centre of attention. 

Peter moves to stand. “You know what? Forget I said anything –”

A cool hand encircles his wrist and pulls him back onto the grass. 

“Peter.” Roman says, “Don’t be an ass. ‘Course I’ll go with you, date or no date, it’s whatever.”

Peter stares at Roman, whose expression is as earnest as he supposes Roman will ever manage to look. His eyes are wide and searching. 

He lets out a breath. “Fine,” he says, “But you need to get me a corsage. Make sure it doesn’t clash.” 

Roman laughs, sounding a little breathless. 

“Peter,” he says again, shifting forwards. His eyes dart down to Peter’s mouth for the briefest second, and then he’s leaning in, a little hesitantly, to press their lips together. 

Peter’s brain takes a minute to catch up with the turn of events, because _fuck_. Roman Godfrey is kissing him, and he isn’t dreaming. He brings a hand up to cup Roman’s cheek, kissing back, pushing up onto his knees so that he has a better angle, can kiss back harder, pouring every bit of feeling he can into it. He needs Roman to know that he’s wanted this, ever since the day he showed up at Hemlock High and made eye contact in the parking lot with that strange boy with a past far darker than he might ever know. 

When Roman pulls away, he doesn’t go far, stopping only far enough to lean their foreheads together, Peter’s hand still on his cheek. He glances up through his lashes, eyes stupidly big. They’re doe eyes, one of them slightly lazy if you know to look close enough. It shouldn’t look so good on him, but it does, and Peter loves and hates it in equal measure. 

“It’s a date, then.” He says, and Peter laughs, feeling drunk and high as a kite. 

“You can pick me up at seven, Jacob Black.” Peter says, bumping their noses together. He brushes his thumb across Roman’s cheek, the skin smooth under his touch. 

Roman presses a quick kiss to the edge of Peter’s lips, too fast to chase after. “You bet.” He says, and sits up fully, and the empty space between them suddenly feels very cold. He remedies it by reaching across for Roman’s hand, lacing their fingers together. 

Roman hesitates, looking down, and Peter squeezes. “Is this okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” Roman replies, looking up with an uncharacteristically shy smile, “No one’s ever –” he laughs, “No one’s ever held my hand before. Jesus. Of course it’s okay, Peter. More than okay.” 

Peter feels himself starting to grin. “So….it’d be okay if I kissed you again, huh?” 

“Oh, absolutely. Come here, wolfboy.” 

“Sorry,” Peter says, as Roman leans in, “You’re forgetting I’m the vampire. Edward Cullen, remember?” 

Roman laughs against his lips, “How long have you been seventeen?” he murmurs in a bad imitation of Bella Swan, kissing a smiling Peter. 

“Oh.” he says, threading his free hand up into Roman’s hair. “A while.”


End file.
